Many thanks to those who reviewed, even if it was just to voice their irritation at the most ghastly of cliffhangers (to be fair, it worked didn't it?) At last the next chapter is upon us! R&R, and enjoy! ~F
Chapter Eighty Nine
Game of Shadows
Nobu'tan had the sickening feeling that everything he had worked for would end right then and there, under the blades of one of his old teacher. The blank stare in the once vibrant and calculating eyes was a clear sign of sorcery at work, controlling the half orc's mind and preventing her from recognizing the student she had almost treated as a son.
"Garona…" Nobu'tan muttered, his voice dry and choked by the stirred dust of his abrupt meeting with the ground.
The assassin made no response, nor gave any sign of recognition, but instead raised one of the daggers, preparing to drive it full force into the warlock's chest. Unconsciously, Nobu'tan braced himself for the sickening sensation of being gutted, but it never came.
A massive bolt of ice magic caught Garona in the side, throwing her off of Nobu'tan, and he quickly scrambled to his feet.
"Lady Proudmoore, I thank you for your timely intervention," he said, glancing at the approaching Sorceress, before carefully focusing his attention on the Assassin. Garona had already leapt back to her feet, seemingly torn between fighting and fleeing.
But there was something else at work here, and Nobu'tan was not willing to kill his old mentor in order to find out what. Expanding his contact to the Fel, he allowed the trace amounts of magic to flow through his senses. The sharpness of the Arcane was everywhere, clearly the work of Jaina and her mages, but there was a strong bitterness as well. "Void magic…" he said, hissing at the vileness of it.
"Twilight Hammer Cultists…" Jaina explained, although Nobu'tan already knew of their presence.
"Capture Garona, she is not herself," Nobu'tan instructed, even as he dodged around Lady Proudmoore, trying to locate the leader of the Cultists.
It did not take much effort. A single undead creature, female, was seen directing their movements and attacking with powerful magic of her own. Nobu'tan grinned. Not since he had fought Morgana Le Faye had he tested his mettle against a follower of the Void, and he had been looking forward to it.
Flinging a sphere of Felfire at the undead, he waited for her to acknowledge him. A shield of ice enveloped the undead, absorbing and melting at contact with the Fel fireball, and she turned. "Prepare to withdraw," she ordered over her shoulder, "we have what we came for!"
Tilting her head at an unnatural angle, she considered Nobu'tan, "Ah, the warlock… my Master is well aware of your return, and we hope that our present to you was well received."
Knowing that she referred to the assassination attempt by Garona, Nobu'tan seethed slightly. "You will not survive this encounter," he promised, but the undead giggled.
"I find that hard to believe… but you're more than able to try…" she said. Her tune changed to a grunt of frustration when Nobu'tan acquiesced; launching several more blasts of Fel-green flames at her.
Frost magic erupted around her, blocking much of the deadly, cursed fire, but Nobu'tan was already running at the undead, hissing spells under his breath and summoning a demonic ally to aid him. The Alliance knew he was a warlock already, so there was little point in hiding it any longer.
Ikzilgoril, the leader of Nobu'tan's Felguard, charged through a hastily opened portal, demonic axe hacking through the icy shields that the mage tried to impose between herself and the Grand Warlock. Nobu'tan surged with the strength of the Fel, summoning spheres of flame from the sky over her, forcing the undead to move swiftly or be burned.
She abandoned her defenses, leaping to the side and moving on the offense toward Nobu'tan, flinging shards of jagged ice at him in rapid succession. A wall of Felfire erupted in response, and Nobu'tan held it for a solid few moments before forcing the defensive flames outward, forming a wave of demonic fire to try and wash over the female creature.
The undead laughed as she dodged once more, ducking the swinging axe of the Felguard. "You are indeed strong, as Cho'Gall said," she said, still laughing, "But there is more to combat than raw talent, warlock…"
"This is just the beginning," Nobu'tan swore at her, tensing as he injected Fel power into the very ground around him. Green, crystalline spikes shot up around the undead, and she gasped as one of the caught her left arm, snapping the bone and forcing it to hang at a grotesque angle.
Green lightning shot between the pillars, forming a rudimentary cage around the undead, and while pinned, Nobu'tan conjured a swirling ball of chaotic energy, hurling it at her.
He snarled however when the bolt of chaos struck a hastily formed block of ice. The mage had some tricks left to try and counter his power. Ikzilgoril hammered on the block without success, and Nobu'tan closed in slowly, drawing a dagger that he hoped to stick her with the moment she released the spell.
He had not expected; however, for her to rupture the icy prison prematurely, sending chunks of ice in all directions. A nova of frost followed, chilling Nobu'tan and preventing him from striking as swiftly as he had hoped.
"We'll be waiting for you in Silithus…" the undead taunted, dancing backward while Nobu'tan and Ikzilgoril couldn't reach her, and teleporting away.
Nobu'tan raged, Felfire erupting along his body and melting away the chill and ice that clung to him. The others of the more powerful cultists were also fleeing, either by magic or into the dense marshes that surrounded the city.
So Cho'Gall had sensed his return, had he? Well, Nobu'tan was now suddenly very interested in the success of the Alliance expedition to Silithus. The mad ogre mage would answer for what he had done; Nobu'tan swore that this would happen.
Calming himself, the warlock focused on the fallout from the surprise attack. Priests and druids were rushing from knot of injured warriors to the next, and mages were taking to the outermost ring of their group, holding barriers in place to prevent any follow-up attack from launching on them.
His warlocks were mingling with the other casters, lending their aid and doing what was needed to keep up appearances. But at last, Nobu'tan found Lady Proudmoore, who had returned to them with a large contingent of Theramore's knights.
"I expect that the wounded will want to rest for today in the city, rather than out in the exposed ground you'd previously selected," she said casually, although her eyes were grim. Nobu'tan could tell without any thought of accusation that the woman had had no idea that this attack would happen, and she was just as angry about it as Nobu'tan was.
"Where is Garona?" he asked, uncaring if the woman realized that he knew the name of his assassin intimately.
"We have her secured in my tower, waiting for us to go and remove the magical control over her mind." Proudmoore replied, and Nobu'tan nodded. It was good that she recognized the same thing he had.
"I want all of our forces inside the city for the night, if possible, but I would see about understanding this attack as swiftly as possible." Nobu'tan informed her, and the Sorceress agreed, gesturing for him to follow her to the central tower.
It did not take long for them to arrive there, and stealing down a flight of steps the pair emerged into a small underground dungeon. The half orc was there, unconscious in a cell flanked by two heavily armed guards, as well as the old woman that reeked of powerful arcane magic.
"I see that you've brought him," the old woman said, glancing at Nobu'tan.
"He has history with the assassin, so I figured it would be beneficial for her to see a familiar face when she awakens." Jaina explained.
The old woman shrugged, "Let's begin," she said, and gestured for the guards to move away. Both mages stood on either side of Nobu'tan, and together the three of them wove the magic of Azeroth around the collapsed form, seeking out the strain of Void that controlled the assassin's mind and prevented her from her freedom to act.
Nobu'tan had a guess of where to look, and he was rewarded by leading the two sorceresses to the old mental wound that Gul'dan had placed long ago to ensure her loyalty. And sure enough, a blockage of Void magic now filled that old Fel wound on the half orc.
All three figured poured arcane magic, envisioning digging at the blotch of Void filth and prying it out of the female being forever. At last, after a strong series of minutes straining at the metaphysical task, the block dislodged, and poured out like a vile sludge into the air.
Nobu'tan quickly conjured a Fel prison and captured the Void magic within, despite the flinch and sneer that the old Guardian shot him.
"I will study the originator of this Void magic," Nobu'tan explained, "Although I have a suspicion as to the creator."
"Cho'Gall…" the old woman stated flatly, "Chieftain of the Twilight Hammer Cult."
Nobu'tan nodded. "This will give me an idea of what he is up to in Silithus," he added, gesturing at the prison of Void magic.
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Garona grunted as her vision swam back to her. The last thing she remembered was blearily chasing after the vile Forsaken Void-Mage that had stolen her son, and then nothing.
"Garona?" a voice said. The Half-Orc furrowed her brow, recognizing the tone and tenor of the voice, but unable to place it fully. She turned, realizing that she was in a human cell. Through the barred door she saw a human male, looking at her with a type of gentle concern that she had only seen on one other human long ago.
"Little Runt?" she asked, the memory of Gul'dan's whelp of a servant smiling up at her with wide eyes as she taught him how to handle a blade.
"It's been a long time, my old teacher," the man said, smiling widely. Garona was confused.
"But you disappeared… Gul'dan was furious, and went off on his own to his death…" she said, and the man who was Nobu'tan bowed his head in solemn anger.
"I know, it would be a long story to tell, but I have returned at last, after a long and dangerous journey, to take up where my master left off, but in the process of it the Twilight Hammer attacked me, and tried to use you to murder me. Why?"
At the mention of Cho'Gall's bastardized clan, Garona felt the fury of a vengeful mother rise up in her. She leapt to her feet, ignoring the screaming pain that erupted from her side and head, and shook the bars of her cage. "I need to go and kill that ogre!" she shouted, spittle flying from her tusks, "He has my son!"
Nobu'tan looked confused, "You have a son?" he asked. Garona had forgotten that the Little Runt couldn't have known what had happened for the longest time, but her intensity was too overwhelming, and her need to go and save Med'an from Cho'Gall's grasp.
Before she responded, the door opened and a pair of human females entered. One was clearly dressed as a mage, and Garona stiffened. There were few humans that she trusted, and less so when she was being held prisoner.
"She's awake I see…" the woman stated, looking from Nobu'tan to Garona.
"Yes," the orc-raised human replied, stepping back from the barred door, "she says that she was after her son when the Twilight Hammer caught her and used magic to control her thoughts."
Garona was about to rebuke the Runt for speaking to humans, but the Sorceress seemed to understand, and nodded. "That makes sense, given what we encountered in releasing her from the spell."
"Lady Proudmoore, I feel her story is true, and I would like to bring her with my battalion to Silithus to investigate and stop the Twilight Hammer." Nobu'tan said, and even though the old woman behind the pair of them seemed to frown at the words, Garona thought she could sense that the younger mage was in agreement.
"Her skills might be extremely useful if there is something that they are actually up to." The woman said. "And as you clearly have a past with her, I trust that she will not try to turn on us if we let her out…"
With a wave of her hand, the door sprang open, and Garona could have fled if she so desired, but Nobu'tan smiled at her, and gestured for them to depart the underground dungeon. "there is much for us to discuss, about what has been going on here in my absence, and what we plan to do when we find a certain ogre mage," he whispered to her as they left, bypassing the two women.
"I expect you both to join us for the evening," Proudmoore said as they departed, "It will do you both good to have a hot meal before you leave for the south."
Nobu'tan nodded dismissively, and led Garona out of the tower, bypassing onlookers and guards without a care until they found a secluded area out of sight. "Garona," he said, sounding strangely more like the child that the assassin had known, "please, tell me everything you know."
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Sylvanas strove to find a reason to maintain the simmering anger that was slowly ebbing away as Varimathras outlined the defenses and protections that he had begun in response to the Death Knight's report of the Lich King's movement. While she was still infuriated that she had not been informed, the blasted demon had an answer for every probe that she had into his reasoning.
"Of course, any and all these preparations can be eliminated at your command, my Queen," Varimathras said, the demon almost smirking at the idea that Sylvanas would deliberately leave the Forsaken vulnerable.
"No," she replied coldly, narrowing her eyes at the Dreadlord. "I want to accelerate it."
At the raised eyebrow of her advisor, Sylvanas smirked herself. "Our lifeline to the rest of the Horde should be protected. Brill needs reinforcement and our lands could do with being expanded into the Plaguelands. If Kel'Thuzad thinks he can strike at us here, I want to make it as difficult as possible for that pompous fool."
"So you want the Undercity to be the best faring of all the locations that will be attacked," Varimathras mused, his complex and sinister mind already plotting ahead.
"More than that," the Banshee Queen replied, "I want to make them regret ever coming back to these shores." She seethed. Arthas had done too much damage to these lands, and her people.
Never again…
"I want a force of Dreathguards and other adventurers on call to strike back at the Scourge when they make their move." Sylvanas stated, "While we distract the Dark Horde from their own attack, we will bring our defenses together, and rally against the Lich King when he comes for us all. I want the Forsaken at the forefront of the strike when we drive Kel'Thuzad and his elite forces from this continent."
"You seem more than certain that they will come here for us…" Varimathras stated, "wouldn't it be more realistic for them to go after the Dark Horde, because of the seeming relationship that exists between the lead warlock of the Dark Horde and the Lich Lord?"
"That is Kel'Thuzad's personal desire," the Dark Lady replied, "However, their military move is orchestrated by Arthas himself, and that madman will want to eliminate us first and foremost out of revenge. Luckily, he will not expect us to have allies flanking them in the Plaguelands."
"The Blood Elves," Varimathras said with a nod of understanding.
"The one race that has as equal a cause to fight Arthas as the Forsaken," Sylvanas added, grinning widely. "We will counterattack and push them out of those lands completely, and in the aftermath divide the northern lands of Lordaeron between our peoples."
She sat back in her chair, "Let the Dark Horde have Arathi and its supplies, the rich lands that were once western Lordaeron will supply us far better and for a longer period of time. And with those resources we can crush them in any siege."
"A brilliant strategy my Lady," Varimathras said, although Sylvanas knew that the demon cared nothing for her tactics or what their achievements would be.
It did not matter however. Her plans were long reaching and she was going to get her revenge on all her enemies. The added lands stripped from the Alliance and the Dark Horde would only push her closer to her goal, and then she would taste the sweetness of revenge on Arthas. Wood from the Plaguelands would build excellent ships for them to sail on Northrend, and weapons in order to lay siege to Icecrown itself, even if she had to go it alone.
"My Lady," a new voice stated, drawing Sylvanas back from her brooding. A lone Forsaken stood before her, with a small group of Blood Elves in tow.
"What is it?" the Banshee Queen asked, wondering if word had come from Lor'themar about their attack plans.
The Forsaken however beckoned one of the Blood elves forward, and the female elf pulled a small wrapped bundle from her satchel. "We were part of the detail assigned to restore Windrunner Spire, and this was found in the ruins. We believe it belonged to you, Dark Lady."
Curious, Sylvanas took the small bundle and unwrapped it. The shimmering blue sapphire glinted in the torchlight, and Sylvanas recognized the locket instantly. Crimson eyes widened with surprise. She had been so sure that this was lost. But as quickly as the emotion flared up, it died away, just like her family and people had. "It is a long dead memory…" she said flatly, allowing the necklace to slip through her fingers and hit the floor.
The locket bounced slightly, completely undamaged, and continued to glitter in the limited light. Sylvanas turned away, fighting the pain that such memories brought her, "Leave me," she said, but without any of the bite that would normally accompany such a command.
Even still, she could not stop the tide of emotion that the necklace had brought, and the sorrow and pain that it represented washed over her. As though feeling their queen's pain, many of the banshees, former Highborne that had served and died with her in Quel'Thalas appeared, chanting and humming to try and sooth their Queen.
But the emotion was too powerful; and Sylvanas turned back, seeing no one and nothing but the locket of her former life.
"Anar'alah, Anar'alah, belore, Sin'dore, i Shindu fallah na, Sin'dorei ," she sang, the words flowing from her memory of that dreadful day when Arthas invaded their beloved Quel'Thalas.
"Anar'alah Shindu Sin'dorei, Shindu fallah na, Sin'dorei," she remembered it so vividly, the blood and death that visited their people that grave day, and her own attempt to shield her people, which resulted in her death and humiliation by the Death Knight that would later become the Lich King himself.
"Anar'alah belore, Shindu Sin'dorei, Shindu fallah na Sin'dorei," so many had fallen that fateful morning when the Scourge pushed through the final enchanted gate. Sylvanas mourned her people for the first time in her memory since her own death. It had been so long, and such a painful road to this point, and there was still so much further to go before they were finally avenged.
"Anar'alah belore…" and she promised her people, the Forsaken and the Blood Elf remnant, they would be avenged.
"Belore…" she swore it upon her very being.
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Jaina had no idea what the warlock and the assassin discussed in their private moments, but they returned somber and seemingly committed to some unknown plan of action. Aegwynn still did not like the idea of inviting them into the tower properly, but Jaina knew that it would look bad to those outside if she did not meet with their commander after such an attack in her own city.
"Banu, Garona, thank you for coming," she said, gesturing for them to take seats around the smaller, informal dining table. The dinner was not the same opulence that she normally served foreign dignitaries, but she had a guess at the tastes of her two guests, and had mirrored something closer to what Thrall enjoyed when he visited her.
Judging from the looks of enjoyment when the pair ate, it had been a good selection. "So I gather that Garona will be accompanying the Alliance force to Silithus, then." Jaina asked casually, and their pair exchanged a glance before Banu nodded.
"She will go her own route, and stay in the shadows, but yes, she will be leading the way for us, making sure that we avoid any potential ambushes and traps from here on." The man said.
"And am I to guess the nature of your former knowledge of each other?" Jaina pressed gently, knowing that it was possible for this to be something of a sore topic.
"I am sure, Lady Proudmoore, that you already have a good enough guess without needing direct confirmation as to our knowledge of each other…" Banu retorted, neither snide nor superior in his tone.
"Gul'dan, then," Jaina stated, her own mind already shifting through the possibilities. When neither denied it, she had her answer.
"So you are a member of the Stormreaver Clan then," she continued, and her heart froze slightly when Banu made no means of denying it. It was a strange thing, to realize that one of your potential greatest enemies was now sitting across from your table, and Jaina was at a loss for what she ought to do.
On the one hand, Banu was clearly the enigmatic Nobu'tan: Chieftain of the Stormreavers and leader of the Dark Horde, according to what she had learned from Thrall via missive, but at the same time he was here, willingly helping the Alliance against what she could only presume was a mutual foe.
"Why are you helping us?" she asked, deciding on blunt forthrightness. "Would the Alliance not be your enemy, as it had been the enemy of Gul'dan and the Legion before it?"
Banu… no, Jaina reprimanded herself, Nobu'tan frowned. "I cannot say for certain, there are ears everywhere, but there is a conflict brewing in which I do not know what side I stand on as of yet…" he said quietly, and Jaina recognized the unease and pain in the young man's eyes. It mirrored her own when she had to think of peace for the whole world over protecting her beloved father from Thrall and the Horde.
"I understand you…" she said at last, sincerely. "The road ahead must seem so dark and troubling. I speak from experience when I say I know what you're feeling. Peace is not an easy option, and requires great sacrifice, especially with a past as what I've gathered you've had. But I would implore you to consider strongly what all of Azeroth has to offer, united and standing together against any threat that seeks to destroy our world. The Legion lost multiple times before, and we can do it again if need be."
Nobu'tan was silent, but Jaina thought she could see the calculating mind working at a furious pace behind his somber eyes. She respected his need for private contemplation, and they finished the meal in relative silence. "You are free to use rooms here in the tower, or return to your camp as you wish," she said as she stood up from the table, "I wish you both luck in your expedition, and trust I will see you both again one day."
"…Thank you…" Nobu'tan said, as Jaina left the room.
She only made it as far as her own chamber at the top of the tower before being accosted by Aegwynn. The old Magna was waiting in ambush in Jaina's room, scowl set firmly on her face. "I believe you are making a grave mistake trusting that boy…" she said coldly.
So frosty was her demeanor that even Jaina was taken aback by it, "How so?" she refuted, "He was personally attached to Garona, and I can tell that he is conflicted."
"The Legion will not permit one of his power to betray them. Spies, curses, there will be some means waiting to rein him in and destroy him, or else destroy his rebellious spirit and reform him into the perfect tool for the demonic attack."
"That does not seem to be their typical agenda, given what we have already fought and stopped." Jaina complained, but Aegwynn overrode her.
"I've fought the demons far longer than you've been alive, little Proudmoore; trust me when I say that this is most assuredly their course of action when one of their servants is actually useful and powerful. I sense the hand of the Nathrezim leadership in this, perhaps even Kil'jaeden himself. That boy is a monster waiting to happen, and when they do snap the reins, he will obey like the mongrel dog that he was raised to be."
"All the more reason to make use of him as much as we can, then," Jaina stated, although she hardly wanted to believe that such a caring soul such as what she had observed within Nobu'tan would be so thoroughly turned to evil. "Capitalize on his nature, and prepare a way to break him free of the demons if they do take command of him in such a fashion…"
"It would be easier to kill him now, and save us the trouble," Aegwynn said, crossing her arms and frowning, "but yes, because of your heart and for the sake of his, we can undertake this route. But be warned, he is incredibly powerful, more so than even he realizes, I feel. There will be many wishing to control and manipulate him."
"Then it's a good thing he has many on his side that will strive to stop such from happening…" Jaina replied, making up her mind on something she had been debating since learning of the expedition to Silithus.
Aegwynn recognized the look in her eye before she even said it, "I will gather together your traveling equipment then, as you are going to accompany them both, Lady Jaina," she said.
"Thank you, old friend," Jaina said, grateful for a cool resolution to the argument.
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Tenebrous stared up at the massive circular wall of energy that barred their path. The central section of the build was complete isolated from the rest of the world by this magic, and roughly twenty or so Night Elf-looking figures were inside, channeling Fel magic into what appeared to be a massive chaos beast.
This shield was what the pylons were powering; Blaise knew it for certain now. The remaining two were on either side of the shield, protected by a significant number of elementals and arcane creatures. He would be tempted to leave the creatures to their devises, if that location was not also the apex of the Fel energy in the area, and therefore the precise location that he wished to conduct his ritual and summo9n forth the steeds of Xoroth.
"Take out those pylons," he ordered therefore, and the ogres did not hesitate to obey his command, charging at the elementals and crushing them beneath their powerful weapons. The bursts of arcane magic disrupted the shield, and sent the magic within stirring out of control. By the time the last one fell, and the shield evaporated altogether, the elves were in full panic.
The chaos beast saw an opportunity, and went on a rampage, each massive head snapping and biting at the elves, while magic washed out from its impressive body.
"All these are in my way," Tenebrous said, "kill them all, and remove the corpses so I can prepare my ritual," he ordered, stepping forward himself. The elves were so focused on the beast that they did not immediately recognize the other in their midst, until Blaise planted a dagger in the chest of one of their allies.
The ogres roared in delight, quick to battle once more, and the shaman let loose their powerful magic over the bloodlust of their race. Even Blaise felt his heart pounding with fire in his system at the magic of the shaman, and he fought with purpose, his senses enhanced and refined as he ducked, dodged and stabbed the other caster elves before they could really put together a fight against them and the chaos beast.
The unfortunate thing was that once the elves were all dead, the beast did not slip back into the Nether, but rather roared in its altered, monstrous manner and came for the ogres as well. Sighing at the irritation that the beast represented, Blaise waited for the ogres to start hemming it away from their caster, before taking to the offensive himself.
He could not produce the same flashy destruction that the likes of Vincent Crabbe or Gregory Goyle could, but curses and fleshing eating spells issued forth from his hands and lips, tearing into the thick hide of the chaos hound, siphoning away its life essence and in turn healing the wounds of Blaise's allies.
It was a technique that he had been perfecting over time. Many warlocks were able to manipulate the life force of those creatures they fought, typically draining it into themselves, but Blaise had wondered long and hard about how to use that same power to aid those around him.
Priests and shaman used other forms of energy to heal, so why not the warlocks with the Fel? And because of the severe lack of the former in the ranks of the Dark Horde, the assassin felt that it would be a useful addition to their ranks, and an unexpected strength in times of need yet to come.
The beast conjured glaring eyes, which tried to stun or otherwise interrupt their forces in their casting and movement, but the shaman and warlocks of the Balefire Clan did what they could to round up and destroy the fragile orbs as quickly as they appeared, while the warriors beat the hound soundly with their weapons.
Eventually, the beast collapsed under their combined might, and as the ogres went about removing the corpse from the ring of pillars and healing those injured severely in the battle, Tenebrous withdrew the artifacts and other items needed for the ritual.
From his research and the information the Banehollow had provided, Blaise was about to attempt creating, on his own, a circle of greater summoning. While not as extensive as a black gate or other major portal that allowed large numbers of demons to cross, the circle was required for demons of a certain level of power to cross or else to reach deeply into the Nether for something specific.
A Bell of Dethmoora, a Wheel of the Black March, a Doomsday Candle, as well as a Block Lodestone were all carefully arranged around the outer perimeter of the circle, which a wave of his wizarding wand conjured and inscribed in runes tainted with shadow and the Fel.
"This circle will bring hordes of lesser demons to it," he explained to the ogres, "crush them while I wait for the Dreadsteed to appear. Once that happens, subdue it but do not under any circumstances allow the demonic horde to die or escape."
They looked spooked by the vast amount of Fel magic that was washing about them, even the warlocks, but nodded their obedience. Blaise was supremely pleased to have the ogres for this, as their brute strength was the greatest asset in the Dark Horde that he knew of.
Once the ogres had their instructions, Blaise turned and walked toward the Bell of Dethmoora. It would commence the ritual, activating the circle and tearing open the fabric of reality to the far flung world of flames. One sharp ring reverberated around the chamber, collecting and funneling through the Wheel of the Black March, and peeling out into the Nether.
Rifts began to appear around them, shimmering and vibrant. Many closed just as swiftly as they opened, but from others imps and small demonic hounds appeared, drawn to the power of the summoning circle. These, immediately disappointed with what they found, started to attack and try to disrupt Blaise from his work, but the ogres were quick to impose themselves and flatten anything that started to pick a fight.
The Doomsday Candle assisted somewhat with this, as the flames of the imps was absorbed and rerouted away when they hurled their fire bolts into the circle. Thrice more Blaise rang the Bell, summoning larger and larger rifts as the power in the Wheel grew.
Felguards and other medium sized demons now started to appear, and a few were even amused by what they saw, and did not attack but rather watched with eager anticipation at the activities of the warlock.
The sixth ring of the Bell was successful, and the Wheel spun in the air, diverting energy and power toward a larger gateway that sprung up beneath it. Flames leapt out of the portal, consumed and harmlessly deflected by the candle.
"Xoroth," Blaise said, recognizing the fire-laden world that had been thoroughly describe in the text. A strangled cry sounded from the portal, and a Dreadsteed appeared, armor and horns glinting with drying blood, and flames erupting as a mane at its neck.
The victory was near, and Blaise eagerly ordered the ogres to advance and subdue the Dreadsteed. Is he but enslaved it through the Fel, it would obey and belong to him, and from there he could present it to Nobu'tan as a gift. The Grand Warlock would likely find a simpler way for them all to acquire the same mounts, and thus the Order of the Black Harvest would be empowered to travel overland without outside aid.
"Who dares harm one of my steeds!" a voice cried through the portal. Blaise choked back a curse. He had been warned that the Dreadlord who ruled over Xoroth would quickly become aware if one of his steeds was injured, but he had not expected it to be that swift.
Through the portal a Nathrezim appeared, clad in dark armor and glaring menacingly at the surroundings. "I am Lord Hel'nurath, and you petty mortals will perish for this offense!" he yelled, brandishing his claws and lunging into battle with the ogres.
"Pryykun!" Blaise shouted, summoning his Felhunter to his side. As strong as they were, the ogres would not be able to stand up long against the Dreadlord's magic. With the Doomsday Candle siphoning off the flames of the Dreadsteed as well as the portal, they only had the aspects of shadow to be concerned about, aside from the tough hide and heavy armor of the demons.
Lesser creatures flew out of rifts around them, harassing the edges of the summoning circle and distracting groups of ogres from their primary goal. Tenebrous did what he could, launching curses at the imps and other minor demons, drawing power from their deaths in order to strengthen his magic against Hel'nurath. The Dreadlord was carefully navigating the many ogre warriors, graceful in the face of the lumbering warriors.
Blaise knew that it was up to him to act, and drawing his dagger, he stole around the inner edge of the circle. Hel'nurath was far too protected by armor and magic for him to attack directly, but the Dreadsteed was thoroughly weakened from its inability to effectively attack through its flames.
While the steed tried to keep near its master, occasionally the demonic horse would attempt to charge through the knot of ogres, flashing hooves sharpened for war trying to cut or bash the hardened armor of the Balefire Clan.
Waiting for one of these moments, Tenebrous took a flying leap, aided in his vertical lift by the Fel, and landed heavily on the back of the massive beast. The dreadsteed screamed in surprise, and tried to rear up and buck him off, but Blaise drove both daggers into the gaps between armored plating fused to the flesh of the beast.
As soon as he felt secured to the back of the beast, Blaise started chanting the spell of demonic enslavement. He would accomplish this task at the least, even if they did not defeat Hel'nurath, and escape to bring word back to Nobu'tan of his success.
"NO!" the demon yelled, turning to try and make for Blaise, but the ogres were at least aware enough to attack the exposed back of the demon as he tried to disengage from them and get to Blaise and the dreadsteed.
The massive maces and clubs clanged off the armor of the Dreadlord, but many more cracked heavily on the exposed limbs, winds, and even the head of the demon. Hel'nurath was sent off course, and when he turned his flaming eyes on Blaise once more, one horn was comically shattered, and one wing hung limply.
Blaise felt the spell finish, and the Dreadsteed whimpered in subservient agony, finally collapsing to his will. "I will return, and destroy you all!" Hel'nurath shouted angrily, before expiring himself, and fading away in a burst of shadows and bats. Blaise scanned the group of ogres from the back of his new mount. They had been successful, with no actual losses.